


A moment which is passing, and which is true

by Roxie Ann (pluvial_poetry)



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: M/M, Photographs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-14
Updated: 2010-09-14
Packaged: 2017-10-11 20:23:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/116712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pluvial_poetry/pseuds/Roxie%20Ann
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Of late though, most of his photographs had only one subject.</p>
<p>(5 photographs Eames secretly took of Arthur, and 1 Arthur took of Eames.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	A moment which is passing, and which is true

**Author's Note:**

> Title is a quote from Jacques-Henri Lartique.

0.

Eames was a good photographer for the same reason that he was a good forger. Because the more he saw, the more he knew. The captured glimpses of countenance, postures, of gestures and stances. Tools of the trade.

Of late though, most of his photographs had only one subject.

 

1.

The team disbanded after the Fischer job. Cobb had gone home. Ariadne was back at school in Paris. Saito had work for Yusuf in Tokyo, no details given. And Eames could go anywhere and do anything. But somehow that left Arthur adrift; no job, no plans.

Arthur without a plan scared Eames more than a little bit. So he suggested one to Arthur. A quick jaunt to St. Petersburg, and a consultant fee on a simple smash and grab of an extraction. Eames tried not to let the fact that Arthur agreed to it worry him unduly.

The job was pointless, extracting information that Eames could have deduced after bumping into the mark on the street. But the money was right for a couple minutes of sleep. Arthur insisted on waiting outside the apartment complex while Eames was in the dream. Eames was back within 15 minutes. And before Arthur spotted him, he took the photo. Of Arthur watching the people pass by, shadows and sun warring for the real estate of his face. Looking for all the world like a kid in a man's suit. Except around the eyes.

Arthur was the researcher. He liked information spread out in front of him, cross-referenced, labeled and highlighted, sorted by date and time. And even though Eames was the one collecting the facts this time, he did it Arthur's way. If anything, given that he seemed to be building a profile on Arthur, Eames hoped that Arthur would at least appreciate the irony.

If Eames were to file this photo away he would catalogue it by emotion. And he would note (alphabetically, of course): loneliness, longing, _pain_.

Eames tucked his camera out of sight. And if later he called Arthur "darling" a few times too many, laughed too loud, and got a little too improperly drunk, at least it kept Arthur from looking that way again for the rest of the night.

[](http://pics.livejournal.com/pluvial_poetry/pic/0002qx2p/)   


  
**Arthur, St. Petersburg, might have been April**   


 

2.

Eames tended to move in and out of locales and people's lives without ceremony. He'd thought about Arthur previously (of course he had, and often). However it was another level of thought entirely to come to terms with the fact that Arthur was a real person. Brushed his teeth, put on his trousers one leg at a time, had a family.

They were in the Hamptons, while Eames worked as a legal assistant to the CEO of Winfield-Parrish; learning his mannerisms, the way he spoke. It would have only taken him a couple of days. But Eames found himself making excuses, stretching it out, letting the trip last longer.

Arthur liked the beach. His wardrobe expanded to include sunglasses, and involved shoes less and less. And on one memorable occasion, as they walked along the sand, Arthur smoked a cigarette. Eames took the photo as proof.

He wasn't quite sure what it proved. Yet.

[](http://pics.livejournal.com/pluvial_poetry/pic/0002r213/)   


  
**Arthur, Montauk, some time in July**   


 

3.

Their plane had been grounded due to fog, and Arthur had refused to spend the night in the airport. The car was Eames's idea, he'd always been partial to flashy convertibles. He'd thought that they would  end up at a hotel, meant to direct Arthur to a little inn that he had fond memories of. But he'd fallen asleep twenty minutes into the drive. And Arthur had kept going. Around dawn Eames woke up and demanded a rest stop. He took the photo when he arrived back at the car to find Arthur passed out at the wheel.

He'd almost forgotten how vulnerable Arthur looked as he slept.

[](http://pics.livejournal.com/pluvial_poetry/pic/0002s6h3/)   


  
**Arthur, Cologne, late summer**   


 

4.

They were in Bolivia for two days while Eames assembled the papers that he would need to get close to Salvatore Vega. It was too bloody hot and humid to even breathe, but Arthur of course wouldn't deign to be inconvenienced. Eames was sweating his bollocks off, wearing long shirts and trousers to keep the mosquitoes at bay. Arthur never complained of being even mildly uncomfortable. He read books, drank beer, watched Eames work. His hair flopped in his eyes, and he hadn't shaved since they'd arrived.

Eames didn't bother to sneak up on him. And if Arthur heard the click of the shutter, he didn't bother to look up.

Eames couldn't say whether that was progress or not.

[](http://pics.livejournal.com/pluvial_poetry/pic/0002txe3/)   


  
**Arthur, Bolivia, before the rainy season**   


 

5.

He'd taken Arthur home. Thought perhaps that it had been time. Wondered if maybe Arthur had been missing it. He didn't know. Arthur never said what he wanted.

In the morning, Eames went to get his things from the car. His camera was at the top of his pack. And when he realized Arthur had followed him outside, Eames took his picture. He looked rumpled from bed, sleepy and unfocused. All the ways that he never let himself be seen. And christ, Eames wanted to take him back to bed. Keep him looking like he would in that photo, for as long as he could.

So that's what Eames did.

[](http://pics.livejournal.com/pluvial_poetry/pic/0002w23y/)   


  
**Arthur, his place, around his birthday**   


 

\- 1.

It wasn't the best photo Eames had ever seen of himself. Arthur was a talented man, but he didn't have the imagination needed for photography. But Arthur liked the picture, how Eames looked in it. Like himself.

And Eames liked to see himself through Arthur's eyes.

  
**myself, somewhere, some time**   


 

0.

Eames had kept every picture he'd taken of Arthur. Studied them, trying to make sense of them. Who Arthur was, what he felt. Eames had it all captured in photos. The answers weren't there.

He didn't take a picture of how Arthur looked now, with him.

But he remembered later that Arthur looked happy.


End file.
